Thrall Twilight of the Aspects (24 page)

You are the ones who have betrayed the flight, not I. …

He glanced upward to where Kalecgos, the new blue Dragon Aspect, still bright with arcane magic, hovered. Kalecgos was now visibly larger than his former rival, who looked less like a magnificent being and more like an ugly smudge against the night sky. Still radiant, still glorious, Kalecgos was no longer a joyful
thing but an avenging god. He folded his wings and dove toward Arygos.

“No, Arygos! I will not let you destroy us!”

At that moment the air was full of a dreadful sound: the sound of dozens of powerfully beating wings. Thrall’s eyes widened at the approach of the twilight dragons—for although Thrall had never seen one, he knew it must be they. They were like dark ghosts, living shadows in the shape of dragons, bearing down upon the blues’ stronghold.

The blues exploded into action with startling speed for such gargantuan creatures. Before Thrall even realized it, they were leaping skyward and rushing to meet the enemy, and the night sky was brightening with white and pale blue tendrils and eruptions of arcane energy. Thrall glanced up to where Kalec and Arygos were engaged in combat.

“Kalec!” Thrall cried, thinking that it was impossible for the new Aspect to hear him over the sounds of battle but knowing he had to try anyway. “Look out!”

For a terrible moment, it did not appear as if Kalecgos had heard. Then, at the last minute, he released Arygos and hurled himself to the left. Three of the twilight dragons headed straight for Arygos. At the last instant, to Thrall’s shock, all three turned incorporeal, passing harmlessly through their blue ally, then wheeled to join the fray.

Thrall felt rather than heard the dragon behind him. He whirled, pulling out the Doomhammer and gripping it with both hands, his teeth clenched. He would swing with his whole heart, protecting the dragonflight he had come to like and respect. Had come to help heal.

He would defend it with his life.

The twilight dragon was beautiful, and terrifying. She opened
her mouth, revealing teeth almost as large as Thrall’s entire body. Her forelegs were extended, claws open, to capture and rend and tear, if the gaping maw did not do the job first.

Thrall’s battle cry of
For the Horde!
came to his lips, but he did not utter it. He did not fight only for the Horde, not anymore. He fought for so much more: for the Alliance, and the Earthen Ring, and the Cenarion Circle, and the broken and scattered dragonflights.

He fought for Azeroth.

He raised his hammer. The twilight dragon was almost upon him.

And then suddenly Thrall was fifty feet up in the air, something strong and implacable and secure folding around his torso. He glanced down to see talons encircling him. Kalec’s voice came to him: “On my back, quickly! You will be safer there!”

And Thrall knew he would be. As Kalec moved the orc to his massive winged shoulders, he opened his claw. Thrall leaped, flying through the air for a few seconds before landing on Kalec’s broad back.

Despite the blue dragons’ affinity with cold magic, Kalecgos felt warm to Thrall. Warmer than either Desharin or Tick had felt when he had ridden atop them. If what Thrall had experienced flying atop the other two dragons had been a whisper, sitting on the back of the blue Aspect was a joyful shout. Energy, the crackle of magic, flowed through Thrall, and he held on as Kalecgos darted and dove. Kalec swooped down on a pair of twilight dragons, breathing a deadly, icy breath. They bellowed in pain and turned translucent—everywhere save where Kalec’s breath had touched them, freezing the flesh solid. Kalec turned and struck one with his tail, shattering her frozen foreleg. The other’s wing had been frozen, and now the twilight dragon fell frantically, her useless wing unable to bear her.

The orc and the Aspect were in beautiful synchronicity. Thrall stayed atop Kalec as if he were welded on, feeling no fear as the great being dove and banked and swerved. Kalec attacked with magic, illusions that lured one twilight dragon one way while Kalec dove toward another, moving almost close enough to touch a third so that Thrall could make his own attack.

“The back of the skull!” shouted Kalecgos.

Thrall sprang, in such perfect sync with Kalecgos that he did not give it a second thought. He landed on the neck of one of the twilight dragons and brought the Doomhammer crashing down where Kalec had told him to strike. So surprised was the beast that she didn’t even have a chance to shift, instead dying instantly and plummeting toward the earth. And there was Kalec, swooping in smoothly, and again Thrall leaped from the back of one dragon to another. The Aspect’s wings beat, and up they climbed, ready to continue the battle. The orc glanced about, barely winded, senses at peak alert, and permitted himself a small smile.

The blues were winning.

T
he blues were winning!

They were outnumbered, but they were unquestionably winning this battle. They had been heartened with the appearance of a new Aspect. The ritual had worked; the blessing of the titans had been humbly requested and granted; and the upwelling of joy and relief had given the dragons new energy and strength of will to fight to protect themselves.

This was not how it was supposed to happen!

Bleeding, part of him frozen, one wing damaged from the targeted attack by Kalecgos, Arygos maintained himself in flight with an effort. He felt weak, and frightened, and was accustomed to neither sensation.

How had things gone so terribly wrong?

All Arygos could think about—like any trapped animal, he thought with a mixture of panic and disgust—was safety. A den. A place to recover and rest and think. There was one such place, where he could be calm and shake this terror that seemed to clamp down on his brain like a dark fog.

He glanced about wildly for Kalecgos. There he was, huge and
luminous and proud, radiant with all the power that he, Arygos, should have been chosen to embody. And atop his back, adding insult to injury, was Kalec’s beloved orc clinging like a burr, swinging his hammer and smashing the skulls of Arygos’s twilight dragons.

The Eye. He had to go to the Eye of Eternity, to think, to rally, to come up with some plan. It was the heart of the Nexus, his father’s place of refuge and retreat, and it called to him now in his moment of panic. Just the thought sent at least some manner of steadiness through him. Whimpering, as ill befit a dragon, he spread his wings and flew. He dove from the pinnacle of the Nexus, where the aerial battle was going so impossibly poorly, like a stone. He fell more than flew, at the last moment opening his wings and gliding into the entrance of the Nexus. Through its labyrinthine passages he bolted, his heart racing as panic dug its icy claws into his heart.

And there it was: a swirling, misty portal. On the other side was the Eye of Eternity. Arygos flew swiftly through it, emerging into the night sky of this small dimension complete unto itself. Once, there had been a blue and gray magical platform on which one could perch and rest while contemplating the mysteries that swirled past. Magic runes had danced, appearing and disappearing like softly flowing snowflakes. The black night sky, dotted with cold stars, had turned and twisted, and in one part a blue-white nebula had whirled.

Now there was no platform. It had been shattered into drifting pieces in the battle that had claimed his father’s life; one such still held the closed magical orb known as the Focusing Iris. Malygos had used his own blood to activate and control this orb, which had lain dormant for millennia. With the open Focusing Iris, Malygos had been able to direct powerful surge needles, using them to pull arcane magic from Azeroth’s ley lines and channeling that magic into the Nexus. And it had been the opening of the Focusing Iris a
slender crack with a long-forgotten key that had lured Malygos to what had been his final battle.

Even though it reminded him of a grim moment in his life, this place was comforting and familiar, and Arygos felt himself relax. He perched atop one of the slowly moving pieces, folded his wings against his great body, and opened his jaw to take great, gulping breaths.

“Arygos?”

The dragon opened his eyes and unfurled his wings, instantly on the alert. Who had dared—?

“Blackmoore!” He breathed a sigh of relief. “I am glad to see you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” the human said, striding forward. He stood on another one of the platform pieces and peered up boldly at the hovering dragon. He lifted off his helm, and his long black hair spilled out. His blue eyes flickered over Arygos. “What has happened? I don’t know much about all this Aspect business, but … I’m guessing that it’s not you.”

Arygos winced. “No. They chose …
Kalecgossss
.” He hissed the name, deeply angry, deeply wronged. “That stupid orc—he turned the heart of the dragonflight away from me. From what was rightfully mine!”

Blackmoore frowned. “This is not good,” he muttered.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Angrily, Arygos slammed his tail on the piece of the platform, tilting it precariously. “It is all Thrall’s fault. If you had just killed him as you were supposed to—”

The human’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, and if you had become Aspect as
you
were supposed to, we would not be having this pleasant conversation.” His voice cracked like a whip. “But neither of us has what we want right now, so we had best put aside our anger and figure out how to get it.”

The human was correct. Arygos calmed himself. He needed to focus; it was why he had come here.

“Perhaps together we can accomplish both our goals,” Arygos said. “And please our Twilight Father and Deathwing at the same time.”

Blackmoore eyed him. “Go on.”

“We both want Thrall dead. And we both want me to become Aspect. Come with me back to the battle, King Blackmoore. Take your revenge. If you kill the orc, Kalec will see that not all works out as he wishes. And if Kalec falters, the faith of the rest of the flight will be shaken, the miserable wyrms. Then Kalecgos will be vulnerable, and I can destroy him.”

He grew more excited as he spoke, working it out, visualizing each step. “Once Kalecgos is slain, the blues, desperate for someone to guide them, will turn to me—and so I will gain the powers of the Aspect as I should have done in the first place! All will be as it should have been.”

“You know this for a fact?” challenged Blackmoore.

“No … not exactly. But whom else could the power possibly pass to? I was the only one who challenged Kalec. Surely they will turn to me when I reveal him for the weakling he is.”

Blackmoore stroked his goatee with a mailed hand, considering. “I don’t like the odds. I am but a human. Against one or even a few dragons, maybe—but an entire flight?”

“Trust me. Thrall will be completely undone when he sees you again,” urged Arygos. He did not like to beg, but he needed this human. “And when Thrall is dead, the blues will be stricken. There are still many twilight dragons in the air. We can do this if we are together on it!”

The human nodded. “Very well,” he said. “A risky plan, but what is life without risk, eh?” He grinned suddenly, white teeth flashing, the smile of a predator.

“Only a little risk,” said Arygos, “for such a great reward.” He was more relieved than he had anticipated. He knew the history of this human, knew his hatred for Thrall. Blackmoore wanted the orc dead. Just as Arygos wanted Kalec dead. Arygos flew toward the platform bearing the human, positioning himself next to and slightly below it so that Blackmoore could easily climb atop him.

They could do this. He knew they could. Then the obstacles would finally be cut down. He would be Aspect, as he had always yearned to be.

His heart lifted with each wing beat as he rounded toward the whirling portal. Below him, the pieces of the platform turned almost lazily. Arygos looked down in time to see one of them roll over, revealing the Focusing Iris directly below him.

The pain was sudden, shocking, and brutal: a white-hot needle piercing the base of his skull. As Blackmoore’s sword thrust down, down, Arygos clung to life long enough to see a drop of his red blood splash on the Focusing Iris, to watch it snap wide open. And as he hurtled downward, watching Blackmoore make a daring leap from his back to land on a slowly turning piece of platform, Arygos, son of Malygos, understood that he would die betrayed.

Holding the Doomhammer in one hand, Thrall lifted the other. Lightning crackled, zagging in a chain of scorching death between no fewer than four twilight dragons. The strike stunned them momentarily, blackening their sides and searing their leathery wings. They shrieked in pain, staying in their corporeal forms long enough for Thrall to again leap from Kalec’s back onto a twilight drake, lift the Doomhammer, and bring it smashing down on the drake’s skull. It was a glancing blow, though, and the drake had the wherewithal to turn incorporeal. Thrall abruptly started to fall. He glanced
downward at the snow rushing up to meet him, but then suddenly he saw the broad, shining blue back of Kalecgos. Thrall landed hard, but safely.